


I want u to no i luv u

by LRoge



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Fluff, Intimacy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4634334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LRoge/pseuds/LRoge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean receives a drunken text from Cas and as he swings into caretaker mode, the night becomes full of revelations for both of them. Dean suspects Sam got involved too, by getting Cas drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I want u to no i luv u

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a graphic of the text exchange as it appears in the story. Sorry I don't know who to credit for that.

Dean was sitting on his bed, a beer in one hand and casually opening his laptop. He was thinking about a Saturday night to himself; and the questions on his mind were porn now, or catch up on Game of Thrones first and porn later? He decided a few episodes might even help him get in the mood for porn, and was just starting an episode when the heard is text alert.  
He picked up his phone and read a message from Castiel: dnea I want u to no I luv you also I dont know were I am.  
Damnit, he thought. “I’m going to kill Sam.” He knew Sam and promised to take the angel out of the bunker and help get him cheered up since he accepted his banishment from heaven. Basically, he was allowed to remain an angel, but had been labeled Fallen. He got to keep his newly retrieved grace, stolen back from Metatron, but none of the other angels would have anything to do with him. He was basically excommunicated and preparing to live on earth for the rest of eternity, and unsure what he would do when the world ended.  
Cas had accepted it well enough at first. He knew there was no point in arguing, and that this was probably for the best. He had told Dean several times he didn’t even want to return to heaven out of embarrassment of all the trouble he’d caused there, and was afraid of how the other angels saw him, having chosen him as their leader before he gave up an army for the sake of Dean Winchester.  
However, Dean thought Cas felt like someone who got fired from a job they didn’t like that much to begin with. He was happy not to go back to heaven or see his brothers and sisters, but to know what they never wanted to see him again either, it stung a little. Dean had tried to be gracious and sensitive about it. They’d all agreed Cas would live at the Men of Letters bunker with them and they’d take care of each other, but after two weeks of trying to cheer Cas up, and having him go from fake happy and accepting, to silent, to mopey and depressed, to moody and irritable, Dean had enough and they had had several outburst of bickering at each other in one week. Sam had stepped in and agreed to get Cas out of the bunker for a little fun and some time away from Dean so things could cool off.  
Sam and Cas had disappeared around two in the afternoon and Dean hadn’t heard from them since. Now Cas was lost somewhere and misspelling things. He was usually meticulous about proper spelling and punctuation in text messages, even if he was rather fond of over using emoticons, and expressed frustration at times at not being able to type in Enochian symbols. And he was telling Dean he loved him?  
Dean typed a reply: How drunk are you?  
Right away a response came: dunno. I was doing shots with Sam.  
Dean typed: I think I probably know where you ended up. See in a few.  
Dean sighed, and got off his bed, ready to grab his boots. He hoped that finding and putting Cas to bed wouldn’t take too long. He had some porn he wanted to get to tonight.  
"Luv u dean,” said the next message.  
“Don’t move.” He typed back as he headed for the bunker door. Oh Cas, he sighed again, and he hoped it wasn’t going to be a long night.

Less than ten minutes later Dean pulled the impala into a small abandon parking lot next to an abandoned water tower on the other side of the hill above the bunker. Sam had guessed that the Men of Letters had built and hidden their bunker sometime in the 1930’s when a large municipal electrical facility and water tower were being built into this hill, and this graveled lot at the end of a service road had once been the place for parking the supply trucks and other maintenance and equipment necessary for these projects. The lot and the water tower were on the far side of the hill from the facility above the bunker, and sheltered and surrounded by an unnaturally crowded for Kansas cluster of thin trees, probably planted as wind break at the same time as the tower’s construction.  
Sitting on the ground at the base of one of those trees, was the fallen angel Castiel, in a muddied trench coat, eyes bloodshot, looking nauseous. Dean got out of the car and approached him.  
“Jesus. You’ve looked better.”  
“Dean,” Cas said, and then swayed trying to get to his feet.  
“Come on,” Dean said, getting Cas’s arm over his shoulder and steadying him as he walked him to the car. “Last time you drank a whole liquor store you didn’t look this rough. What the hell did Sam do to you?”  
“I love you, Dean,” Cas sputtered. “Sam and I drank. A lot. We went to a bar and we’re talking about how amazing you are. You’re amazing Dean.”  
Somehow he had already broken free of Dean’s arm and was attempting to walk backwards and face the hunter as he spoke to him. He quickly lost his balance and ended up on hands and knees on the gravel.  
“Woa, Cas. Are you ok?”  
A few seconds of silence went by and Dean noticed Cas’s body was trembling, quickly followed by short gasping breaths. Cas was crying. He staggered to his feet and Dean took him by both wrists to see bloodied palms from where the gravel pierced his skin. “That’s not bad,” he said. “You can be a man about it. Come on, let’s go home and get you cleaned up. You got your phone?”  
Cas nodded and let himself be steered to the car. Once in the seat he slumped over and rested his head against Dean’s shoulder. “Just give me a moment, Dean” He said.  
“If you feel like you’re going to be sick, get out of my car first,” Dean warned. But he waited patiently before starting the car. Cas just closed his eyes.  
“Where’s Sam? What happened?”  
“I don’t know. We were drinking in a bar. We had a good day together. We had fun. We went out to lunch, saw a movie, and then we decided to get a few drinks before heading home. We were talking about how awesome you are. Then Sam was going to come up to the top of the hill with me to look at the stars. Suddenly Sam was gone. I was wandering around in the dark and I slipped in the mud several times. Then I found this spot and I decided to text you that I love you”  
“Ok. So Sam just disappeared on you?” Dean asked.  
“It seemed that way,” Cas agreed.  
“Let me guess, right before he did he put your phone in your hands?”  
“I guess so. How did you know?  
“I’m going to kill him,” was all he said as he started the impala’s engine. Cas opened his eyes and attempted to sit up.  
“Why are you upset with Sam?” Cas asked.  
“Never mind,” Dean said as he pulled into the bunker’s secret garage. Easier for helping Cas inside, because they could take the elevator to the main floor instead of the stairs. Dean deposited Cas at a small table where he and Sam often ate breakfast in the corner of the map room with an order to sit tight. Dean returned with small first aid kit and sat across from him and began wiping his palms with a hydrogen peroxide wipe. He took each of Cas’s hands in both of his, one at a time.  
His hands felt warm, but fragile in Dean's hands, like holding a bird. How strange that he should be holding Cas's hand in his and caring for his wounds when Cas had healed Dean so many times. Dean thought about the power he'd felt radiate from inside himself under these hands, the inner warmth that spread throughout him from the point where Cas touched him.  
“How are you doing? You feeling better?” Dean said, staring into Cas’s palm.  
Cas looked at the floor. “I’m ok.”  
“I put on some coffee,” Dean said. “Why are you like this? You’ve never gotten this drunk before.”  
“It must be,” Cas paused and burped, he shook his head and took a deep breath before continuing. “My grace. When I got it back it rejected the stolen grace I was using to sustain me. Now it is healing. It is kind of dormant for now while it regenerates and rebuilds itself. My powers are limited. I’m not mortal, but right now almost human in my abilities.”  
“I’ll say,” Dean said as he finished wiping the dirt from the cuts on Cas’s hands. He’d used the small medical scissors to trim away the dead broken skin, but hadn’t bandaged the cuts. Instead he clapped Cas on the shoulder and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, you want some coffee now, or you want to get in the shower first?”  
“Oh. Shower.” Cas said as he stood up. He could balance much better now and he seemed to be sobering up. He looked tired. He let his head roll back and forth and his eyes close as though he might fall asleep standing, and Dean turned him toward the hallway that housed the dormitories and the shower in the bunker, walking beside Cas with a hand in the middle of his back to help steer him.  
Dean deposited him in a shower stall and closed the curtain separating them. He heard the water turn on and he roughly shouted in annoyance, “Cas? Get undressed first.”  
“Yes. Right.”  
“Ok. You throw those muddy clothes under the curtain and I’ll take them and bring you back a towel. You have everything you need?”  
“I’ll be fine, Dean.” Cas was sounding more like himself, but his voice was small and a bit embarrassed sounding.  
“I don’t have to worry about you falling?”  
“No.”  
“Ok. I’m going to go get you a towel.” Dean said, and he scooped up the pile of Cas’s dirty clothes from the floor and left the Men of Letters communal bathroom. When he got to his room he started to drop Cas’s clothes in a heap in his own laundry basket, but then he stopped and carefully separated the jacket from the coat, and the shirt from the suit jacket. These were the only clothes Cas had, and he should take care of them, Dean thought. As he put them back into the laundry he thought about the few times he’d seen Cas wearing any other clothes; when he’d been human after he lost his grace, last year. In fact sometime during that human period he’d lost his old trench coat and returned with this newer shorter one. Dean wondered where he got it. The coat had protected the jacket from the mud and it didn’t need to be washed, but Cas’s shirt could use a wash anyway. He separated the boxers from the pants and threw them in the wash as well thinking how strangely intimate this was, to be handling the boxer shorts Cas wore every day, that touched his body; rubbed on his most private skin. And yet, he knew they weren’t really dirty, because Cas didn’t need to shower or change clothes like a human. Yet, he’d probably feel better with a fresh set of clothes. Dean starting looking around the room to find Cas something to change into.  
Dean returned to the bathroom when a towel and a men of letters bathrobe.  
“Cas, how you doing?” He called upon entering.  
“Ok,” said Cas though his voice sounded small and weak. “I threw up.”  
Dean stifled a laugh. “It's ok. You can clean it up later.” He slung the towel and the robe over the shower curtain rod. “Dry off and put on the robe,” he gave Cas instructions as an afterthought, so that he didn't try to dress himself before drying.  
The other side of the shower curtain was silent and Dean stood there lost in thought. The men of letters designed this part of the bunker as a dormitory with a communal bathroom. Dean had never lived in a dormitory before, but Sam had for a time in college. He wondered if this was what it was like in college, to live with a group of guys. When Sam was in school did he have a best friend who took car if him when he drank too much? Did Sam take care of anyone? Did it ever stop being weird after a while? Did they take care of each other? Suddenly was hit with a sharp pang of loneliness. He missed Kevin and Bobby and wished they were all living together. Yet at the same time, he felt glad that right now he and Cas were alone in the bunker.  
Cas emerged from the shower stall wearing the robe. He looked at Dean with surprise to find him standing there waiting, but he said nothing.  
“How are you feeling?” Dean asked.  
“Much better, except...”  
“Except?”  
“My feet are very cold on the tile floor.”  
“I'll go get you some socks. Meet me in the kitchen, I'll make you some eggs. “  
Soon Cas was sitting at the big professional size work table in the bunkers kitchen and Dean was setting a plate of fried eggs, bacon and homemade hash browns in front of him.  
“Thank you Dean, but I don't think that more consumption is the answer.”  
“Well trust me, I know. You've got to get some drunk food in your body to absorb the alcohol.”  
Dean made himself a plate and sat down across from him. “Eat up. You'll feel better.”  
Cas tentatively started on his food, and continued with growing enthusiasm. “This is very good, Dean. There's something about the combination of the grease and salt...It’s very satisfying.”  
“It's called drunk food for a reason, Cas.” Dean told him as he piled more bacon and potatoes onto Cas's plate. They ate heartily in silence for a few minutes and then Cas asked, “Dean, how did you know where to find me?”  
“I knew if Sam took you out he'd go to the bar where we're regulars at the bottom of the hill on the other side of the railroad tracks. And I knew if Sam was drunk, he wouldn't drive home, and if you were walking, on a clear night like this, you'd want to look at the stars. Then Sam would disappear and you'd be wandering around and on that side of the hill, that little empty service lot is the only place you can get cellphone reception.”  
“You've been there often, making calls?” Cas asked. The way he said it, wasn't accusing exactly, but more like knowing. He looked at Dean right then with a face full of innocence and sadness, like he knew about all the times Dean had sat in the impala in that lot, thinking, and like knowing what Dean had been thinking of hurt him.  
Dean tried to hide the guilt he felt at how hurt Cas was looking now. He couldn't tell if he was successful, or if it was showing plainly on his face.  
“No, not really.” he said.  
Cas tried to change the subject, “Why are you upset with Sam?”  
Dean sighed, “Because Sam set you up for this Cas. He knows emotions are running high around here lately and alcohol makes you sensitive sometimes. So he gets a bunch of drinks in you and then he starts a conversation about me? He's just winding you up to get you to text me you love me. Of course his last move is to abandon you on the hill and put the phone in your hand.”  
“Why does Sam want me to tell you I love you?”  
“Because he's being a bitch. He thinks it's a funny joke.”  
“Why is that funny?”  
“It isn't.”  
“What if Sam isn't playing a joke on you, Dean? What if he wanted to see what you'd say?”  
“Like what?”  
Cas didn't say anything, but held Dean's eyes in silence for what seemed like a long time, not even breaking his stare as he sipped his coffee. Finally he said, “You've been very lovingly taking care of me tonight, Dean. Thank you.”  
Dean snorted a laugh and looked down at his plate before looking back. “Sure Cas. We've all been there. I got your back.”  
“Thank you,” Cas said seriously. “I love you too.”  
Dean went red in the face. He paused a moment before slapping Cas on the shoulder affectionately. “All right, sure, man. I love you, buddy,” he said as he stood and began clearing away the dishes.  
“No, I don't want you to say it like that” Cas said. “Don't love me like a buddy. That's a bro thing to say. Are you a bro, Dean?”  
Dean looked up from the sink, “What have you been watching on TV?”  
Cas took a breath and said suddenly, I'm sorry we haven't been getting along well, Dean. I think you're probably right, I have been "on my period" since the exile.  
Dean smirked and Cas's face broke into a grin like a little kid proud of saying something funny to his parents without really understanding why they had laughed.  
"Yeah, well," Dean said into his coffee. "I think maybe, I sort of gave up on thinking about how it must be for you, to lose your family and your home. I was just, kinda disappointed that you weren't happier to be here. You used to want to be a hunter, and I was thinking staying here in the bunker could be like... a second chance."  
“You mean the time you sent me away.”  
“...yeah, that.” Dean muttered quietly into his coffee mug.  
“I know why you did it, now,” Cas said, “and I should have been more appreciative to you and Sam for everything you've done for me. I have wanted to be here, as hunter support for both of you, but life kept getting in the way.”  
Dean laughed outright at Cas using such an unusual expression as “life kept getting in the way”.  
“Yeah,” he chucked, “there was that whole dying and turning into a demon thing.”  
Cas smiled too, at the absurdity of it all. “And Sam being unknowingly possessed by an angel...”  
Dean got up and walked around behind him and refilled his coffee mug. He suddenly, on impulse reached out and ran his hand over Cas's head, ruffling his hair. As he pulled his hand from his damp mussed head, a small clump of mud fell free and landed on the table. Dean reached back to the hair above and around Cas's ears.  
"Cas, you've still got all this dirt in your hair. He said. Come on, I'll help you wash it out. "  
Dean lead Cas to his room in the men of letters dormitory corridor, thinking for some reason the sink in his room would be better than the ones in the bathroom. He wheeled the antique but functional wooden desk chair in his room up to the sink and gestured for Cas to sit. He stood to the side, running the water, checking the temperature and thinking to himself how glad he was to have kept his room clean. Had he been a younger man and had his own room he probably would have let it get disgusting with a sink he wouldn’t want anyone to see, but as it was, he was actually proud of how nice his little sanctuary was.  
Cas sat down, and Dean leaned his head back over the basin. His hair didn’t quite reach the faucet so Dean scooped the water in his hands and gently combed his fingers through Castiel’s hair, freeing bits of dirt and mud. Most of it was in the back of his head, which meant Dean had to run his hand up from the base of Cas’s neck towards the top of his head. It felt an unnatural and weird direction and Dean noticed his hands seemed to take a slower path back down combing Cas’s hair front to back, before starting again.  
Cas, appeared almost sober now, and he closed his eyes and sighed. He looked tired, Dean realized. Poor guy. He’d been through a lot, and not just lately. Dean quietly, and internally, though he didn’t quite know who he was praying to in this moment, or if it was even a prayer at all, said thank you for the angel’s safety.  
Cas, as though he had heard Dean’s thought, opened his eyes and said, “I’m glad to be here Dean, with you and Sam, getting a second chance.”  
Dean stopped running his hands through Cas’s wet hair. “Hey, come on now,” he said, though he didn’t even know what he meant. He reached for a towel and turned off the water. Cas sat up slowly and Dean covered his head with the towel and began to pat him dry.  
“Why didn’t you call, me Dean?” Cas said suddenly. Dean pulled the towel away.  
“What?”  
“When I was gone. After you told me to leave. You were thinking of me, but you didn’t call.”  
Dean recalled sitting in the lot in the impala, after the drives he would go on last year when he needed to clear his head, get away from Sam, and Gadreel. When he came to the lot he wanted to call Cas, to tell him how worried he was, tell him to come back to the bunker, to come home. He stared at his phone and the cellphone signal he knew he could get without going back, the most private conversation he could have with Cas, and yet, he still didn’t call. He didn’t know how to explain the situation, why he’d had to tell Cas he couldn’t stay, but he knew that wasn’t the real reason. The real reason was he was too worried about Sam. He needed Cas to be all right, and he didn’t want to call and find out he wasn’t. He didn’t know if he could handle it.  
“How did you know?” Dean said, Cas’s wounded expression making sense, finally.  
“I could sense it. Not like a prayer exactly. A need, out there hanging in the air, directed at me like an incomplete conversation, like forgetting what you’re going to say in the middle of saying it.”  
“You were human.” Dean said.  
“Maybe when Metatron took my grace, that power remained,” Cas said thoughtfully. “or maybe, I just knew through human abilities, that you care about me.”  
Dean didn’t know why he felt so choked right then. The cavities in his skull below his eyes were aching with the pressure of not crying. Why was he feeling like crying? He didn’t know, but he heard his own breath sounding raspy and far away.  
“I do,” he croaked. He tried to take a breath but it was like his body couldn’t get the air in. He took a few steps backward and sat on the edge of his bed. “I’m sorry. I should have called. I wanted to know that you were ok. I did.”  
Cas was sitting in the chair, the towel around his neck, drops of water streaming down his face and neck with his hands folded in his lap. Looking down at them, he looked like a little boy and not the powerful seraph Dean knew him to be. He looked bashful and a little ashamed.  
“I don’t know what I would have done if you had called,” He admitted. “I wanted you to call so I could not answer the phone. I wanted to know you care about me without letting you know what was happening. I wanted you to worry. I wanted you to feel bad.”  
“Cas, that’s very human,” Dean said. For someone who just broke up with someone, he was thinking.  
Then he pushed the thought out of his head. He had broken up with Cas after all. Cas had never been human before and didn’t know how to manage human emotions. Sure, they came on him probably pretty intensely. He couldn’t help it if he wanted to act towards Dean like a teenage girl. But another part of Dean remembered the cool goodbye between them last year in the parking lot of the Gas N Sip, the kicked puppy look on Cas’s face and the aching tension that had been there then too, not knowing when he’d see the former angel again. Dean suddenly felt very appreciative of this second chance, not just for Cas to stay with them in the bunker while he healed, but for Dean to make things right.  
“I’m sorry Dean,” Cas said, taking his eyes off his hands to make eye contact with Dean, “for wanting to hurt you”  
“It’s Ok, Cas. You don’t have to be sorry. I’m sorry,” Dean tried to sound cool and calm, but Cas was looking into his eyes and Dean couldn’t break the eye contact.  
Cas stood up, in the men of letters robe, towel draped over his shoulders.  
“Can I stay here tonight?” Cas asked. “I don’t want to be alone.”  
“Ok,” Dean said, his voice coming back to him after a pause. “But you have to go to sleep.”  
Dean closed his laptop and moved it off the bed. Suddenly he felt exhausted himself. Oh well, he thought, there would be time for porn another night. He yanked off his top two shirts and unbuttoned his jeans, then pulled back the blanket and slid into bed. Cas looked at him a moment, then let the wet towel fall to the floor and crawled in beside Dean wearing the robe. Dean turned off the lamp, and turned his back to Cas.  
“Goodnight,” he said.  
After a pause Cas said, “I don’t know why you’re upset with Sam. I don’t think it’s a funny joke, what I said when I was drunk. I mean it. I love you, Dean.”  
“Go to sleep,” Dean replied, trying not to let the angel know that his face had become red and his chest was starting to hurt. His skin itched and his limbs felt awkward and restless. He was aware of every rustle of fabric of Castiel next to him in bed. Every shift of weight. Their legs brushed under the sheet, and Dean scooted away and over compensated so much he almost rolled out of bed.  
He heard Cas sigh heavily, and then was silent. Dean almost thought he had fallen asleep, or at least wouldn’t hear any more from him when Cas said, “Dean, my hands that are cut up. You forgot to bandage them after I took a shower.”  
“Oh, right,” Dean said, sounding like himself again. “Let me see.” He sat up and Cas sat up, offering Dean his palms. Dean took Cas’s hand in his and in the dim light of the room he couldn’t even see the broken skin. He didn’t know why he still felt like crying. Impulsively, he lifted Cas’s palm to his lips and gently kissed it. He looked into the angel’s eyes, still not knowing why he’d done it. “Is that better?” he whispered.  
Cas nodded and offered his other hand. Dean kissed that one too. Then Cas had his hands back and they were sitting on the bed facing each other locked in eye contact again. Then Cas raised a hand again and put it to the side of Dean’s face, and drew him in, Dean leaned in closing his eyes and their lips met. Cas kissed him deeply with parted lips, but was shy and respectful. For the second kiss Dean took control, licking into Cas’s mouth, leaning into him and laying them both down on the bed.  
Cas reached around Dean and started to pull and the waistband of his jeans. Dean shuffled to kick the jeans off, but when Cas tucked his fingers under the elastic of his jockey shorts, Dean took his hand and pressed it to his chest. He gave the slightest shake of the head, and Cas’s eyes acknowledged it with a slight bow. They didn’t know yet that for Dean it would be the most peaceful night of sleep he could remember. They didn’t know that Cas wouldn’t again go back to his own room. Dean just tucked his face into the space between Cas’s head and shoulder, and Cas wrapped his arms around him and closed his eyes.  
As Dean drifted off to sleep, in his mind he ran through all the parts of his body making contact with Cas and he felt surprisingly ok with it. Comfortable even. He closed his eyes and grinned, a little. He was going to kill Sam. Then he pulled Cas closer in his arms and whispered, “I love you, too.”


End file.
